The sky above the 'Blood-Stone' planet was the color of a fresh bruise—a deep, suffocating purple. Here, the air contained less oxygen and more the scent of rusted iron. Every breath felt like inhaling sandpaper, scraping against the lungs.
The sun? No, there was no sun here. Just a hazy, sickly red orb hung in the sky, radiating heat instead of light, slowly sucking the moisture out of the dying world.
"Seventeen...!"
The voice boomed like a hammer striking an anvil.
CRACK!
The sound of a bone snapping echoed through the training grounds. It was dry and crisp, like brittle wood breaking, but everyone present knew it wasn't wood. It was a human rib.
The massive training ground of the Vajra Clan was silent. Hundreds of disciples stood watching, but not a single word escaped their lips. Their eyes held no pity, only a morbid curiosity—like watching a wounded animal twitch in its final moments.
Dragging himself through the red dust was a thin, frail boy.
His name was Shunya.
His body trembled, not from fear, but from the muscle spasms that come after pushing past the breaking point. His tattered clothes, once white, were now a canvas of mud and fresh blood. Sweat stung his eyes, blurring his vision, but he didn't blink.
Even in this storm of pain, his mind was running like a cold, calculating machine.
'Third rib... left side. It's cracked. If his next strike is two inches higher, it will pierce my heart. I have to lean right... exactly at the moment his breath hitches.'
Shunya took a deep, rattling breath. His mouth tasted of copper—the taste of blood.
Standing over him was Vikrant—the genius heir of the Vajra Clan and a Rank-1 'Shaurya' warrior.
Vikrant stood six feet tall, his body sculpted like granite, holding a heavy 'Iron-Wood' practice sword. He wasn't covered in sweat; he was drenched in arrogance.
"Eighteen!" Vikrant roared, his voice carrying the cruelty of a wild beast.
The heavy wooden sword sliced through the air. The sound—WHOOSH—whistled in Shunya's ears like the song of death.
This time, Shunya didn't just stand there.
As the sword descended, Shunya narrowed his eyes for a millisecond. He had read the twitch in Vikrant's shoulder.
'NOW!'
Summoning every ounce of strength left in his battered body, Shunya dove to the right. A bolt of agony shot up his spine, feeling like molten lead being poured into his veins.
The sword grazed past his ear, slicing a few strands of hair before smashing into the ground.
THUD!
A cloud of red dust exploded into the air.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Did that 'trash' just dodge Brother Vikrant's strike?"
"Luck. Just pure, dumb luck."
Shunya scrambled in the dust, trying to stand. His legs wobbled like jelly. He looked up into Vikrant's eyes. There was anger there. A 'Rank-0' insect had dodged him? It was an insult.
"You..." Vikrant whispered, his voice more terrifying than his shout. "You dared to move?"
He raised his heavy boot and, with all his strength, kicked Shunya squarely in the stomach.
BAM!
No calculation could save him from this.
Shunya's body was launched backward like a ragged football, flying ten feet before crashing into the dirt. He rolled, tasting the filth of the ground. When he finally stopped, a fountain of blood erupted from his mouth, staining the red earth an even darker shade of crimson.
His lungs screamed for air, but his throat had seized up.
"You think you can fight?" Vikrant walked over to him, the ground seeming to shake with each step. He placed his boot on Shunya's head, grinding his face into the mud.
"Shunya... your name itself is your worth. Zero. You are nothing. Just a 'Void' for warriors like us to step on."
On a high platform overlooking the grounds, Princess Inaya sat on a velvet chair.
She was beautiful in the way an ice sculpture is beautiful—cold, distant, and untouchable. In her lap lay an old, leather-bound book.
When Shunya was kicked, Inaya didn't look up. But her hand, poised to turn the page, froze in mid-air for half a second.
Her pupils contracted slightly. She held her breath for a moment, then turned the page.
No one noticed, but a hairline crack had appeared in the 'stone statue'.
The training session was over. The sun was setting, casting long, menacing shadows over the Bone Fortress.
The disciples had left. The ground was empty. Except for two people.
Vikrant reached into his pocket. The sound of clinking metal broke the silence.
He pulled out three copper coins. They were old, worn, and tarnished.
Shunya was still lying in the mud, trying to regulate his breathing.
"Here," Vikrant said. "Your payment for today."
He didn't hand the coins to Shunya. He deliberately threw them into the wet, foul-smelling mud near Shunya's face.
Splash.
"Pick them up. Maybe these scraps will buy your mother's medicine," Vikrant laughed. He turned and walked away, whistling a tune as if he had just done a great charity.
Silence.
Only the howling wind and Shunya's ragged breathing remained.
Shunya tried to push himself up on his elbows. His skin was scraped raw, flesh hanging loose.
He looked at the three coins half-buried in the muck.
Was he angry?
Angry? No. That word was too small. What burned inside him was volcanic lava. He wanted to scream, to tear out Vikrant's throat with his teeth.
But he didn't.
He reached out a trembling hand. He dug the coins out of the mud. He clenched his fist so tight that his nails pierced his palm, mixing his blood with the dirty copper.
"Mother..." Only one word escaped his cracked lips.
Pride? Dignity? Those are luxuries for the rich. For the poor, Survival is the only religion.
He pocketed the coins and limped towards the exit.
The streets of the 'Bone Fortress' were narrow and dark, built from the skeletal remains of giant beasts and black stone.
Beggars lined the streets—warriors who had lost their 'Fire' or were crippled in war. This city swallowed the weak whole.
Shunya stopped in front of the 'Life Apothecary'. It was the only shop in this district that sold 'Life Herbs'.
Inside, the air smelled of bitter herbs.
The old physician sat behind the counter, grinding something in a mortar.
"Physician," Shunya's voice was hoarse. He practically dragged himself to the counter. "Three coins... just like you said."
He placed the blood-and-mud-stained coins on the counter.
The physician adjusted his spectacles and glanced at the coins. Then, he looked Shunya up and down—at his broken state, his bleeding wounds. There was no sympathy in the physician's eyes, only business.
"Prices have gone up," the physician said flatly. He didn't even touch the coins.
Shunya felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
"W-What?"
"Rumors of war, boy. Herb supplies are low," the physician continued grinding. "The price is now five coins for a vial. Take it or leave it."
Five coins?
The ground beneath Shunya's feet seemed to vanish. He had broken his ribs to earn these three. And now two more?
"No... No, you can't do this!" Shunya's composure shattered. He gripped the counter, his eyes wide not with tears, but with madness.
"My mother won't survive the night! She's coughing up blood! Physician, I beg you..."
Shunya tried to bow, but the physician slammed his hand on the table.
"This is a shop, not a charity house! If I cried for everyone, I'd starve."
The physician signaled. A burly guard stepped out from the shadows. He grabbed Shunya by the neck—exactly where Vikrant had struck him.
"Throw him out," the physician ordered.
Shunya tried to resist. "I'll work! I'll clean your shop! I'll carry heavy loads! I..."
CRASH!
He was thrown onto the hard pavement near a filthy gutter.
His three coins were tossed after him. They hit a stone and scattered.
"Come back when you have five," the guard said, slamming the door shut.
Shunya lay there. The stench of the gutter filled his nostrils.
Was that mud on his cheek, or was it a tear? He couldn't tell.
The walk back. A desolate, ruined alleyway.
The sky was changing now. Thunder rumbled, and the rain began.
But this wasn't ordinary rain. It was 'Blood Rain'. Red, sticky droplets that smelled of iron. It was as if the planet itself was weeping.
Shunya slumped against a broken wall. The rain washed his wounds but increased the stinging pain.
'Why?'
He looked at his trembling hands.
'I work harder than anyone. I endure more pain than anyone. Yet... I am Zero.'
He slammed his fist against the wall. Skin tore, blood flowed.
"If this world only understands the language of power... then I want power. Even if I have to shake hands with the devil himself."
Suddenly... the sound of the rain changed.
Drip-drip-drip... and then silence.
It was as if someone had pressed the 'Mute' button on the world. The wind died. The raindrops froze in mid-air inches from the ground.
Goosebumps erupted on Shunya's skin. This wasn't the chill of the weather. It was the chill of Death.
He slowly looked up.
In the darkest corner of the alley, where the shadows were deepest, someone was standing.
A tall, shadowy figure wrapped in a tattered, ancient cloak that seemed to ripple without wind.
The stranger's face was hidden in shadow. Except for his eyes.
There were no pupils in those eyes.
Instead, there was a deep, blue, raging ocean. Looking into them felt like falling into an endless abyss.
Shunya wanted to speak, but his voice was trapped in his throat. His body refused to move. This was 'Aura Pressure'.
The stranger took a step forward. His feet didn't seem to touch the ground.
"Just two coins..."
The voice didn't come from the air; it echoed directly inside Shunya's skull. It sounded ancient, like grinding stones.
"Your entire world... your pain... your pride... and that old woman's life. The price of all of it is just two copper coins?"
A spark ignited in Shunya's eyes. "Who... who are you?"
The stranger didn't answer. He extended his right hand.
Resting on his palm was not a weapon, nor gold.
It was a Locket.
An ancient, tarnished silver locket, covered in intricate carvings that seemed to writhe and move on their own. The metal looked older than the city itself. It didn't reflect the dim light; it seemed to devour it. Shadows were being pulled towards the object, swirling around it hungrily.
"This world is cruel, boy. Here, the gods are mute, and demons are kings," the Stranger said. A cruel smile touched his lips, visible even in the dark.
"I can offer you a path. A path that will drag you out of this mud and place you above the stars. But..."
The carvings on the locket began to glow with a faint, ominous pulse. Shunya saw his own reflection in the metal—but the reflection was smiling, while Shunya was terrified.
"...a price must be paid. Are you willing to make a deal with your Fate?"
Shunya looked at the cursed locket. Then he looked at his clenched fist, holding the useless coins.
He remembered his mother's pale face.
He remembered Vikrant's laughter.
Fear vanished from Shunya's eyes. It was replaced by madness—an 'Internal Fire'.
He reached out his hand, stained with blood and mud, towards the locket.
"I am ready."